Reed Ferguson Short Stories Read online

  “It was good,” I said. “Ace and Deuce beat me as usual.”

  She sat up on one elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nat’s in trouble.”

  As I undressed, I told her what was going on with Nat. Then I shut off the light, got under the covers, and snuggled with her.

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?” I asked.

  “No. I thought we could do a few things around here to get ready for our parents’ visit.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “What? You don’t want to help?”

  “Huh?” I shook my head. “No, that’s fine. I was just thinking about Nat. I can’t see her cheating. She’s always seemed like such an honest person.”

  “You’ll help her, right?”

  “I’ll do what I can. I just hope it’s enough.”

  Willie shifted and I put my arm around her. We lay like that, and then Humphrey crawled up on the pillow by my head. He began to purr and I knew I’d been forgiven for accidentally kicking him. Willie’s breathing grew even, and I listened to those sounds until I fell asleep.

  The next morning I awoke to an empty bedroom. I yawned and got up, then went into the kitchen. Willie was sitting at the table in sweats and a T-shirt, her brow wet with perspiration. She must have just come back from a run. Now she was talking on the phone.

  “Who is it?” I mouthed at her as I fixed myself a cup of coffee.

  “Your mother,” she said softly. “We’re discussing some plans.”

  I rolled my eyes. My parents and Willie’s parents were all coming into town for Christmas, and it was sure to be a good, but hectic, time. My mother would see to that. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother dearly, but she can be a handful. She can do miffed better than anybody I’ve ever known. And who knew what she and Willie might be cooking up for the holidays.

  “Yes, that sounds like fun.” Willie grinned at me. “I’ll ask him.” She glanced up at me. “Your mom would like to know if you’d enjoy an afternoon of shopping with us, a few days before Christmas. It would give you more time with her and your father.”

  I almost spit out my coffee. “No! And why would my father want to shop with you all?”

  She shrugged.

  “I’ll find some other ways to spend time with her.”

  “He says he’ll think about it.” Willie’s smile turned wicked.

  I glared at her. “I have work to do.”

  She was laughing as I walked down the hall to my office. I set my cup down on the desk and settled into my chair. I got on the computer and looked up the apartment building that Nat had visited Saturday night. Then I picked up the phone and dialed a number I knew by heart.

  “What’s up, O Great Detective?”

  No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get my best friend, Cal Whitmore, to greet me any other way.

  “Do you have time to help with something?” I asked as I looked at The Maltese Falcon poster on the wall.

  I also have a rare poster for The Big Sleep, and one for The Postman Always Rings Twice, with Lana Turner and John Garfield, that Willie gave me as a wedding present. I treasure it more than my collection of first-edition detective novels, which includes first editions of A Study in Scarlet, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye. These I keep in a glass display case in the corner. I fancy myself as talented as those detectives. Hey, a guy can dream, right?

  “What’s going on?” Cal asked.

  “Nat’s in trouble.” I told him about my conversation with her the night before. “She had gone over to her friend Carol’s apartment, but Carol wasn’t home and Nat left. But at least two people said she was with Greg Sutton, the guy who got caught selling the test answers.”

  “I can’t believe she’d do something like that.” He echoed what everyone else had said.

  “Me, neither.”

  “If Nat’s telling the truth, is someone purposely setting her up?”

  “To cover up their own guilt,” I speculated. “That’s what I hope to find out.”

  “Nat’s great. Whatever you need to help her, I’ll do it.”

  “First, what can you get me on Greg Sutton? He lives in the Remington Apartments on Logan Street.” I gave him the address.

  Cal is a computer whiz, a hacker extraordinaire who can access just about anything online. I often turn to him when I need information that I can’t access or that would take me too long to find.

  I heard clicking as his fingers flew across the keyboard. He hummed as well.

  “Is that ‘Jingle Bells’?” I asked.

  “Huh? Yeah, I’ve got it stuck in my brain.”

  I laughed as I scooped up Humphrey, who had just come running into the room. I tried to tune out Cal’s humming so I wouldn’t get “Jingle Bells” stuck in my head as well.

  “Okay,” Cal said after a minute, and I put Humphrey down and listened to what Cal had found. “Greg Sutton. He’s 21, grew up in California, and it looks like he’s here just for school. He’s got a clean record, belongs to a fraternity, and he doesn’t have any student loans that I can find. He has money in his checking account, so why would he risk it all to sell test answers?”

  “That’s the question of the day.”

  “I’ll see if I can find anything else on him.”

  “What’s Sutton’s apartment number?”

  “303.”

  “The University wouldn’t tell Nat the names of the people who reported her. Can you help me find them? These days, everything’s online, even lease agreements. You could crosscheck the names of the people leasing apartments with the University’s records and I would have a better idea of who might’ve turned her in.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out, but that’s going to take a bit longer.”

  “Get back to me when you can.”

  “Sounds good.”

  And then he was gone.

  I spent the rest of the morning helping Willie clean the condo and put up Christmas decorations. Then we put up the Christmas tree in front of the living room window. We strung lights and hung ornaments on it, which thoroughly entertained Humphrey.

  “We need to put the ornaments up higher,” I said as he batted at a little angel I’d hung on a low branch.

  Willie laughed. “He’ll be fine, just distract him with something else.”

  I tried to grab Humphrey, but he darted into the center of the tree and started to climb up the trunk.

  “You rascal.” Willie stuck her hand into the tree and extracted him. “Come on.” She took him into the kitchen and gave him a treat.

  “Isn’t that rewarding him for bad behavior?”

  Willie came back into the living room. “Ha ha.” Then she smiled. “The tree looks nice.”

  Humphrey ran back into the room and raced toward the tree. Willie picked up a toy mouse and tossed it toward him. He ran after it.

  “Let’s go to lunch,” she said.

  I eyed the tree, and then Humphrey. “Should we lock him in the bedroom?”

  She shook her head. “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not worried about him, I’m worried about the tree.”

  She patted my arm. “They’ll both be fine.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We grabbed our coats and left, then had a nice lunch at Josephina’s. When we got back to the condo, Humphrey was curled up underneath the tree.

  “See?” she said. “Both are okay.”

  I shrugged. Cal hadn’t called yet, so I talked Willie into watching an old film noir, The Wrong Man, with Henry Fonda and Vera Miles, directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Fonda plays Manny Balestreto, a struggling musician who is mistaken for an armed robber.

  “Did you find Hitch’s cameo?” I asked when the movie finished.

  In almost all of his movies, Alfred Hitchcock appeared in a cameo, and it was fun to try to spot him.

  “Yes, I did.” Willie frowned. “That movie is eerily like Nat’s situation. A case of mistaken identity.”

>   “Yeah. The movie was based on a true story, and the man was proven innocent. I hope that’s the case for Nat.”

  Just then my phone rang.

  “I’ve got what you need,” Cal said when I answered. “There are three students living in that building. Carol Yang.”

  “That’s Nat’s friend who wasn’t there when she stopped by.”

  “Right.”

  “Carol’s in 301. Then there’s Micah Ulrich. He’s in 202. And there’s a Tina Hammond in 102. Both of them go to the University as well, and they’re premed students, too.”

  I leaned back. “One of them supposedly saw Nat, and the other heard an argument between her and Sutton.”

  “I can’t get that from an online search,” he said sarcastically.

  “Funny. I guess this is where I’ll have to flat-foot over there and start asking questions.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks for the help.”

  “If you need anything else, call me. I like Nat, and if she didn’t do this – and I don’t believe she did – I’ll do whatever it takes to help her.”

  “Me, too.”

  I ended the call and turned to Willie.

  “I heard,” she said. “I’m with Cal. Clear Nat’s name, and if you need my help as well, just say so.”

  I kissed her, then got up and grabbed my coat and keys. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

  Then I left.

  Chapter Three

  The Remington Apartments were close to the University on Logan Street in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I could hear the traffic as I parked down the block and walked back to the building. I stepped through the glass door and into a foyer that had a bank of call buttons next to mailboxes. I found 301 and pressed the button. A moment later a soft accented voice answered through a speaker to the right of the mailboxes.

  “Yes?”

  “Is this Carol Yang? It’s Reed Ferguson.”

  “Who? Oh yes, Nat said she’d talked to you. Come on up.”

  A click sounded and I let myself through the security door and into a hallway. I took the stairs up to the third floor and saw a door open partway down the hall. A small Asian woman was leaning against the door jamb, waiting for me. I introduced myself and she shook my hand, but she didn’t invite me inside.

  “I don’t think I’ll be much help,” she said softly as she twirled long strands of black hair with her fingers. “I wasn’t here. I wish I was, but I can’t lie.”

  “I understand, and neither Nat nor I would want you to. What time did you get home?”

  “Around six. I’d been shopping all afternoon.”

  Nat had said she’d visited around five and left. So who had been arguing with Sutton at six?

  “Did you see Greg outside talking to anyone?

  She shook her head. “I feel so bad for Nat. I know she wouldn’t do this, but I don’t know what’s going on. I know less than she does.”

  It was too bad, because Nat’s only hope of an alibi wasn’t there.

  “Have you heard anything about Greg Sutton selling test answers?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I’d heard something, but I didn’t have a name. I was surprised to hear the guy lived in this building.”

  “He lives just down the hall.”

  “That’s what Nat said. I’ve seen him around, but I didn’t know he was involved in any of this.”

  I pulled out my wallet and handed her a business card. “If you think of anything that might help, let me know.”

  I thanked her, then went to apartment 303 and knocked. The door jerked open and a young man in jeans and T-shirt stared at me.

  “You’re Greg Sutton?” I asked.

  He nodded. “What’s it to you?”

  “I need to talk to you about Natalie Bowman.”

  “Who?”

  He genuinely seemed not to know the name.

  I went for blunt. “You got caught selling test answers.”

  “So what?”

  He started to close the door, but I put my hand out to stop him.

  “What were you doing Saturday night at six? Who were you talking to?”

  “I don’t know who you are, but–” he started to say but I interrupted him.

  “Did you tell the Dean about Natalie Bowman?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t give them any names. Now leave me alone.”

  He put a little more muscle into closing the door. I stood back and thought for a moment, not sure if I believed Sutton. But I wasn’t going to get anything out of him. I decided to try some of the neighbors to see if they were around on Saturday night and remembered seeing Nat, or if they’d heard the argument outside.

  I turned to apartment 302 and knocked, but no one answered, so I tried 304. It was answered by an older woman with silver hair. She wore black slacks and a garish sweater that would’ve won any ugly Christmas sweater contest.

  I sometimes like to use names of old film noir detectives when I don’t want to use my real name. Sam Spade, one of Humphrey Bogart’s most famous roles, was a favorite, but I thought this woman was old enough that she might recognize the name. Instead, I introduced myself as Jeff Bailey, the film noir detective in the movie Out of the Past. I omitted that I was a private investigator.

  “Do you have a minute to talk about Greg Sutton?” I asked.

  If I thought she might be hesitant to talk, I was wrong.

  “Oh, that Greg is a pain in my rear end.”

  “Oh?” I waited for more.

  “Yes. He’s not very nice, and when his friends are around, they’re rude. This is a quiet building, or it was, until he moved in. Then it’s one thing after another with him and his friends.”

  I smelled cookies baking. It should’ve been comforting, bringing thoughts of Christmas, but her demeanor left me cold.

  “What about Saturday night?” I asked. “Greg apparently had an argument–”

  “He has friends over a lot,” she interrupted. “His door slams, and I hear them banging on the walls. Good Lord, are they throwing a ball around in there? I was never that way when I was in school.”

  She harrumphed in a way that reminded me of my mother.

  I redirected her. “But the argument …”

  “What night?”

  “Saturday.”

  She crossed her arms over a grinning Santa on her sweater. “I saw someone out in the courtyard about six, but I don’t know who it was.”

  “Greg?”

  “I just said I don’t know. Now, he was home later because I heard the thumping on the wall. I think he pounds on it just to annoy me. I’ve got to tell the manager again.”

  As if summoned, Sutton came out his door and walked down the hall. As he passed us, he glanced at the woman and his eyes narrowed. She gave him a frosty glare. He muttered something under his breath as he went to the stairs and disappeared.

  “See?” she said in a low voice.

  I nodded, wondering how much was him, and how much was her. “Do you hear his music or TV?”

  “No, he just pounds on the wall.”

  She started to give me more examples, and I quickly thanked her for her time. I turned and headed for the stairs. I didn’t give her a business card because I did not want her calling me.

  That was a bust, I thought as I went downstairs to apartment 202. I hoped my luck would change soon.

  Chapter Four

  I knocked on Micah Ulrich’s door, but he wasn’t home, nor was anyone else on the second floor. So far, still bad luck. The other name Cal had given me was for Tina Hammond, in 102. I went to the first floor and tried her. The door soon opened and a blast of heavy metal music hit me. Metallica, if I didn’t miss my guess. I was impressed with the solid door because I hadn’t heard the music a moment before.

  “Yeah?” the young woman in tight pants and a striped blouse asked.

  I now introduced myself as Sam Spade, but I didn’t say that Nat had sent me or that I was a private investigator.

/>   “Are you Tina Hammond?” I raised my voice over the music.

  “Yeah.”

  So far, she was a woman of few words.

  “I understand you know something about the test answers that were being sold,” I began.

  “I already told the Dean what I knew,” she interrupted. “Why are they sending someone else to talk to me?”

  I went with that, letting her assume I was with the University. “I just need to go over your story again, being thorough.”

  She held up a finger, then spun around and went back into the apartment. Seconds later, the music died down. She returned and leaned against the door.

  “I heard Greg Sutton and Natalie Bowman arguing outside. The argument didn’t last very long, and they left. That’s it.”

  “Were you outside as well?”

  She pointed behind her. “I heard it through the window. I was all bundled up and cozy with the heat on. I was trying to get some studying done, and I heard some commotion outside. I went to the window to look and saw them. I was surprised they were out there because it was a cold night.”

  “It was,” I agreed. “You’re sure it was Natalie with Sutton?”

  She nodded. “I’m afraid so. I even heard Greg call her by name.”

  That was news to me. I wondered if the Dean had told Natalie that. I’d have to check with her.

  “How do you know Nat was buying test answers from Sutton?”

  “I heard them talking about it.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around six.”

  “So you’ve seen Natalie around the building?”

  “She’s friends with that woman upstairs.”

  “Carol.”

  “Is that her name? I just see her in class once in a while.”

  She sounded pretty sure of herself.

  “How well do you know Greg?” I asked.

  “I don’t.”

  I motioned with my hand. “You don’t see him getting the mail, or in class, something like that?”

  “Well, sure, we all have premed classes, so I see them, but I’ve never talked to Greg.”